Damp Rag
by hearmelaugh
Summary: Yuuri thinks about how he used to enjoy playing with paint, and how the damp rag he used would change when he wetted it with a brush. The damp rag reminds him of... Wolfram?


This is for my splendid friend Shmy, because she's as much a Wolf-fan as I am. Thanks very much for a very funny year. We will be having our final exams on Monday, so wish us luck! The story is the result of stress, a late night, me playing with paint, a bad case of the sniffles and general madness.

Warning: the story ahead probably won't make much sense.

Disclaimer: OO do YOU think I would be writing this if I owned KKM? Didn't think so.

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When Yuuri had been a cherry-cheeked child decked in pigtails, he took endless pleasure in playing madly with the cheap watercolour sets his mother had bought in the hopes of coaxing a Van Gogh out of him. The hope never came to fruition, but Yuuri fondly remembers haphazardly splashing paint on bits of note paper (Shouri's) and happily soaking up water with his plastic paintbrush before ooh-ing at the flowering dampness as he wetted a rag with the laden brush.

Dirty colours he had rubbed off on the rag changed and bloomed when the patch of water spread and engulfed them, much to the delight of the youngest Shibuya. Sure, soon the rag was thoroughly soaked, and it became uncomfortable to hold it for the clamminess it caused, but Yuuri would then be distracted by the prettiness of the mixed and newly-vibrant colours and giggle happily at the now-pleasant sensation of smooth coolness in his hand.

Yuuri grew up, and became king of the demon kingdom.

He was affianced to Wolfram, who was as gentle an assault to his senses as a tank running over him would be to his physique.

Wolfram, whose straightforward, proud nature affected Yuuri and warped his behaviour. Wolfram, whose hidden moments of gentleness and nobility touched Yuuri's heart and brought forth emotions he didn't know he had. Wolfram, whose eternal devotion and loyalty to _him_ boggled Yuuri's mind, forcing him to change beliefs he had thought could never be challenged.

He had bloomed under the unwavering green-eyed attention.

And at first the feeling of change made him uncomfortable; at first, he found Wolfram's company painfully unpleasant. As if an alternate universe wasn't already more than enough; he neither wanted nor welcomed _this _intrusion that refused to go away. Obstinately Wolfram refused to let go, and Yuuri found himself treating Wolfram less like a pest, and more like an indispensable halve of his person. The sensation of having Wolfram near him brought the most beautiful feelings to head, and the discomfort that had accompanied the confusion he felt from the changes Wolfram inspired in him slowly became comfortable, to the point where seeing the blonde made him feel pleasure.

_I wonder if Wolfram would understand _mused Yuuri ironically as he sat in what he (sincerely) hoped was a manly pose, his (beloved)(_much _beloved) fiancée glared at him over the top of his easel, viciously stabbing the rag beside him without a second thought.

"Stop drifting away, Wimp! I'm the artist here, and I can't focus if you keep dreaming!"

Yuuri was pulled from his musings of the past to smile appreciatively at the irritated Wolfram.

"Wolf, you are the overly wet paintbrush to the dirty damp rag of my soul!" he announced happily, before narrowly escaping death via decapitation by a paintbrush.

"Wimp! How dare you compare me to a bristly paintbrush!" said Wolfram, bristling.

Yuuri held up his hands in laughing surrender.

"Calm down, Wolfram! It just means that you are the reason I have changed so much, mostly for the better, and I love you for it." Yuuri smiled cutely. "Is that explanation enough, Wolfram?'

Smock adorably askew from the effort of lethally flinging a deceptively harmless object, Wolfram stared as comprehension dawned. The blonde broke into a grin.

"You're forgiven, wimp! And when it comes to being able to causing change in people, you're a pretty damp brush yourself."

Yuuri could only gawk at the tremendous insight of the smirking blonde before bursting into laughter.

"There is no one who knows me as well, and nor is there anyone quite as magnificent as you, Wolfram!'

"Thank you wimp, I do try to impress"

Both boys smiled at each other, and the painting session continued.


End file.
